The Chibidemic
by Rose Lion
Summary: Yet another world meeting has gone awry. This time, everyone's turning into five year olds! Will the chibis' lack of self control drive the world into chaos? Or will someone be able to stop the epidemic, before it's too late? Rated T, just in case.
1. Chapter 1

So, this is how the Chibidemic (the Chibi Epidemic) started. From a completely average fight between France and England in a completely average world meeting, which is appropriate, seeing as how they fight over everything like five year olds anyway...

Warning: This fanfic contains chibi!characters. If you don't like chibi, don't read this, because your brain will probably implode from the cuteness. There's not much chibi in this chapter, because it's sort of explaining how it all started. The level of chibiness will increase later in other chapters.

Technical error: Sometimes the text may show up replacing ellipses or accents with random symbols. I don't know how to fix this, but if you see various symbols where they don't look like they're supposed to be, that's why.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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><p><em>Yet another useless world meeting. Why do we insist on continuing such things? All that results is just more fighting<em>

I gently push open the polished mahogany door to the meeting room. The large elliptical table takes up most of the room, and the corners are occupied by coffee stations and other nations making conversation. I'm guessing that some of them would be polite, and some... well, not so much.

I walk over to the table to find my seat, looking for the placard with my flag on it. I'm seated next to Spain. _I guess that's not so bad, then. I could at least talk to him, so long as he's not _too _absorbed with those Italian brothers..._

My thoughts are cut off when I glance at the placard to my left that marked the empty seat.

It had the Union Jack on it.

_Non, non! Pas encore, pas encore! You would think that Allemagne or Am_é___rique or whoever it was that assigned the seating would understand by now, that seating by geography is a horrible idea! How I absolutely _loathe_ that man. With his _eyebrows_, and _clothing_, and that _abrasive _manner of his, and that way he has of treating people like they are all _stupid_!_

I run the fingers on my right hand through my hair, in the hopes that it will calm me down. It does, a little bit. It's so soft, and obviously superior to _Angleterre's_ mop. I brush the back of my hand down and forward across my neck, and finally rest my thumb and index finger on my chin, absentmindedly stroking the stubble I'd chosen to grow. I am older than most of the other nations, so I figure some facial hair would help me look the part.

I flick my eyes upward at the nearest window, to stare at my reflection. _Ah, if it isn't my favourite face! _The way my hair cascades like a waterfall of molten gold, only to frame my magnifique bone structure is simply exquisite. My rosy, translucent skin glows to soften the edges of my face, and the perfect, unobtrusive arch on my eyebrows and my full but natural lashes frame the sapphire quarries in my eyes. I fully know that if I were to open my mouth, the soft curve of my lip would give way to the perfect pearls of my teeth._ Now I know why I attend these meetings. I wouldn't want to deprive the other nations of this gorgeousness..._

_**~0~**_

The bloody _Frog_ probably hasn't even noticed me yet. He was staring at himself in the window's reflection when I sat down, and from looking over at him, I can tell that he still is.

All his self-love, all his vanity; the way he can just be fascinated with himself for so long. It's so disgusting. I decide to snap him out of it, before I _really _want to hurt him.

I turn towards him slightly. "A bit in _love _with ourselves, are we?" I can hear the razor blade in my own voice, and feel my mouth twisting into the corresponding sneer.

France's torso jerks slightly, and straightens up. I've apparently startled him. He twists in my direction to smirk at me, "It iz called 'pride in ze self', Monsieur _Sourcils_," I have no idea what he called me, but I knew it was meant to be insulting, "Perhaps you should try it sometime."

"If 'pride' equates to fawning over yourself like you're some kind of god, then I don't want any part of it. That's not the 'pride' _England _knows."

France raises an eyebrow, "Oh? So, tell me, Angleterre. What _iz _pride to you?" I can hear the venom in his otherwise amused tone, like the purr of a panther, waiting for the right moment to pounce. His eyebrows knit together, his eyes narrow and take on a dangerous glint. His lips pull back over his teeth. At a first glance, one could mistake it for a smile; but it was anything but friendly. He was asking for a fight. That is all I need.

I can feel every muscle in my body coil, ready to spring. My fists clench, my nails digging into my palms. "Well, you bloody _Frog. _At least in _England_, pride is about self-respect! Being able to be satisfied with yourself, without having to parade around like a _slut _and vulgarly obsessing over everything about yourself! It's something _your _people clearly lack!"

France's face momentarily turns into an expression of surprise. His mouth forms a small "O" for a split second before he quickly returns to his venomous smile. What I think might be a hurt look in his eyes lingers for a moment, but then dissolves into a glint that was even more venomous than before. He isn't just looking for a fight now. He's bloodthirsty.

In one movement, France stands up from his chair and grabs me by the front of my collar, pulling me up so his face is centimetres from mine, "Don't you talk about mes peuples like zat, you tea-sucking, fashion-missing, pirate scum!"

"Well, you're not much better, you cheese-eating surrender monkey!" I push his shoulders backward, but he keeps his grip on my collar, so he ends up pulling me down with him as he falls onto his chair. The angle we hit the chair at makes it tip over. We topple onto the floor of the conference room. The crash must have earned us the attention of many other nations.

" 'Ow dare you, you low-life ex-punk!" France knocks my right arm out from under me, and pushes my left shoulder, so that I roll over. He quickly rolls over top of me and gets on all fours, each arm and leg on either side of me. I'm trapped.

_Oh, God. This isn't good. This is the point where our fights either become sexual, or really, really painful._

And by the look on France's face, he was still deciding.

Austria's annoyed yet otherwise indifferent voice cut through the tension, "You two! Quit your fighting! Ve are _trying _to run a meeting here vithout any unproductive outbursts."

France doesn't get off of me, but he turns his head up towards the table to say, "You should talk, Monsieur Anger Management." There is no audible response from Austria, but there are some approving snickers from Prussia, and I know Austria well enough to tell that he is silently fuming.

"Prussia, vhy are you even here? You're not even a real _country_."

"Because Awesome Me has to mingle every once and a while. Spread ze awesomeness around, isn't zat right, West?"

"I'm staying out of zis!" Germany quickly shouts, "Now, France! England! I haff given up trying to stop you from fighting, it is impossible! I vill give you vun more minute to sort out vhatever it is you're fighting about, und I don't vant to hear from either of you for ze rest of ze meeting saying anything zat is not strictly related to ze topic at hand, do I make myself clear?"

France says, "Oui" at the same time I say, "Yes".

Despite the interruption, however, I am still trapped on the floor by France, which is never good. I have some ground herbs in my pocket that I was going to use for a potion later, but maybe if I throw them in his face, it'll get in his eye or something, and he'll get off of me. It's a long shot, but it's the best I've got.

I slide my arm down towards my pocket, and grab a pinch of a chalky powder. It doesn't feel like an herb, but it's my only option at the moment. I bring my arm back up as quickly as I can and flick it in his face.

I accidentally inhale some of it, and it burns my throat.

"Mon dieu!" France recoils, and quickly stands up, backing away, coughing a few times. "Quel _est_ ce?"

And that's when the pain sets in. My bones shrink, my muscles contract more and more with every second. I'm shrinking. I hold out my hands, they are becoming smaller and less defined. Blood rushes through my head and I feel dizzy. I collapse in the pain of it. My vision blurs briefly. I squeeze my eyes shut and don't open them until the pain passes.

_**~0~**_

I can hear several gasps from other nations after I open my eyes. I stand up, but I'm nowhere near my full height. My clothes are massively too big for me. I step out of my pants, and my shirt comes down to my mid-calves. My hands are where the elbows should be in my sleeves, and the collar feels looser than average. I whirl around to look at the window...

And I see me as a little boy. I've been turned into a five year old.

An angry, high pitched voice with an unmistakably French accent cuts through the room, "_Angleterre..._ what ze _'ell_ 'ave you done?"

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><p><strong>AN: So, this is the first chapter of the Chibidemic. I hope to release the next chapter soon. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are love!**

**Translation Notes (Every French word France says):**

**_Non_: No**

_**Pas encore**_**: Not again**

_**Allemagne**_**: Germany**

_**Am_é_rique**_**: America**

**_Angleterre_: England**

**_Magnifique_: Magnificent**

**_Monsieur Sourcils_: Mr. Eyebrows**

**_Mes peuples_: My people**

**_Oui_: Yes**

**_Mon dieu_: My God**

**_Quel est ce_: What is this**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, here's Chapter two for The Chibidemic. I know I haven't updated this in a while. I'm sorry, I would have had this up sooner, but I've been busy with work lately. I hope to update the story more frequently than this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**There won't be many pairings in this story, but the pairings in this chapter are slight ChibitaliaXHRE, and implied GerIta. Everything else, at least for now, is friendship... At least to me, that is. Interpret it how you will.**

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><p>All I want is to have a productive meeting where the nations can rationally sort out global disputes without any trouble.<p>

And then _this _happens.

The room is silent. Most nations just stare, too stunned to say anything. I can see smiles on Spain and Hungary's faces, who are clearly amused.

Italy looks up at me expectantly, and a few other nations follow suit.

_Why do they expect me to know how to fix this? I may be the most organized out of us, but I'm about as clueless as them._

Nonetheless, they expect me to say something.

I stand up from my seat, trying to appear as calm as possible. I take a step towards England, who was a metre or so away from his seat next to me.

"England, what happened?"

The boy glances up at me. His emerald eyes meet mine, and his face shows momentary… shock? No, _fear_. He backs away a couple of steps, and I think I can see him tremble slightly before he simply answers, "I don't know, Mr. Germany," he begins to speak very quickly, and his voice becomes even higher pitched, "I was just fighting with France, and one minute we were normal, and then I thought I could throw some herbs in his face, but then I only had this powder, so I used it… and then _this _happened." He gestures down towards his significantly smaller body.

He looks back up at me. His expression shows that he expects me to punish him. If I wasn't as confused as he is, I might.

I feel the corners of my mouth pull into a frown, "Powder? What do you mean?"

England walks over to his discarded pants, and kneels on the ground, his tiny hands groping inside one of the pockets.

He walks back to me, with his hands cupped together, holding a chalky, blood red powder, "I threw some of it in France's face, hoping it would get in his eyes, or something. I breathed some of it in by accident, and France started coughing, and next thing I know, we're both about five years old."

Without a second thought, I hold out my hands to him. "I will have to temporarily confiscate this, so that it does not cause further harm."

England's face briefly shows a look of pain, as if he is being asked to hand over his first born child.

I bend my knees, leaning down towards him, so that I'm closer to his eye level. "England. This powder could be _dangerous_. Hand it over."

_**~0~**_

I remain in my seat, as I watch the scene unfold in front of me. I keep as neutral an expression as possible. I'd bet none of these idiots realize just how powerful you can become with that powder. I'll have to make sure no one suspects me for planting that stuff on that fool, England.

The only one, who seems to catch on to the dangers of this substance, is Germany. That's a nuisance, but by the look on England's face, Germany won't be much of a problem for long.

I can't help but smile. _Why didn't I think of this sooner? _England is the _perfect_ origin for this epidemic. His natural ignorance and short temper combined with all the lack of self-control of a child will have him infecting people without a thought.

"No way! Eat Chibi Powder, you bloody potato-for-brains, tank wanker!"

How cute. He's named it now.

I only need to see Germany doubling over in pain to know that England's thrown the "Chibi Powder" in his face.

_Well done, my little pawn. Well done._

My brief moment of victory is interrupted by the eerie feel of hot breath crawling down my neck. A pair of lips ghosts against my ear, and a curtain of pale blonde hair drapes itself over my shoulder.

A cold, yet surprisingly innocent sounding voice whispers to me, "Aren't they cute, brother?"

Belarus. I'm too terrified to do anything but nod.

Her voice becomes a menacing purr. "I think so too… I bet _our_ children will be adorable little angels, when we. Get. _Married_."

She has interrupted my plans. All I have to do is have every other nation infected, and be the only one to stay normal. Soon, they will all submit to the mighty Russia, and I will rule the world.

But first, I have to get rid of Belarus.

_**~0~**_

My eyes fix on Germany, writhing in pain. He makes the occasional grunting noise, but other than that, he stays silent. After he stays still for a few seconds, I know he's done shrinking.

I bolt out of my seat and rush over to help him up…

And my foot catches on someone's chair leg. I flail my arms in the air to regain my balance, but it's hopeless. I know I'm falling.

_No! I hate looking like such a moron! Every time I try to help Germany out, something goes wrong, and I end up looking useless! Why couldn't I not screw up, just this once?_

I bring my forearms together in front of me, parallel to each other, palms down to break my fall.

My arms slap against the floor, but they stop my face from hitting it. I can already feel the sting, both from my arms, and from Germany's ever lowering confidence in me.

I take a deep breath, and prop myself up. I don't want Germany to help me. Not this time. I can't be dependent on him forever.

I wince slightly as I walk forward towards Germany, pretending nothing happened. But I can feel the stares from everyone.

"Germany? Are you okay?"

A high pitched German accent cuts through me, "No, Italy. I am not okay! For vhat reason would I be okay?" For some reason, the clash between the child's voice and the fury in his tone, that normally would have scared me, is almost laughable.

I offer my hand, and he takes it, allowing me to pull him up.

"Okay, let's see how cute you were when you were little…"

And the face I see shatters my entire world. Everything I thought to be true.

"I-Italy? Are you alright?" His voice has an uncharacteristic concern in it.

"H…" the words sound foreign in my throat from misuse, "Holy Rome?"

His eyebrows knit together, and a scowl that is too serious for any child to have forms on his lips, "Vhat are you going on about, Italy?"

Big… well, not-so-big Brother France sashays over to us to take a look at Germany. His face pales, and in a way, he _has _seen a ghost. "Mon dieu! You are right, Italy! 'e is unmistakably ze Holy Roman Empire."

Germany's voice takes on an irritated tone, "Not you, too! My name is _Germany_, not "Holy Rome".

France raises an eyebrow, "Well, you sure look like him, mon ami." He grabs Germany's wrist, and pulls him over to the window, so that Germany can see his reflection.

Germany is getting frustrated, "I have never seen that face before in my life."

Prussia saunters over to the window, and I decide to follow him.

"Okay, I think we need a second opinion from the Awesome Me. Look at me, West."

Germany looks up at his older brother. Prussia looks like he just got punched in the stomach. His eyes widen and his lips part into a surprised "O". "Mein gott! It really is him!"

There's a collective gasp from a few of the other Europeans.

"Hey, who are you guys _talking _about, even?" America stands up with a confused look on his face.

"The _Holy Roman Empire_, you moron. Don't you know _anything _about history from before _you _were born?" England says patronizingly. Ironic, to say the least, given his current physical age.

Big Brother seems to remember England's existence, now, "Angleterre, what in ze _hell _were you thinking, throwing ze Chibi Poweder at Allemange? You can be so _stupid _sometimes!"

England storms over towards him, "I panicked! He was going to take it _away _from me! And at _least _I wasn't an idiot for _a hundred years_!"

"You were just as involved with zat war as I was!"

"Yes, but _I _was on the right side!"

"You ignorant, impulsive little slave for possession!"

" 'Slave for possession'? Oh, _You're _no one to talk about _that_!"

America stands up and calmly says, "Will you two _ever _stop fighting?"

"No, America, you ignorant git! You should know by now, that we. Will. _Not!_"

France smirks condescendingly, "Angleterre, I believe you have the wrong person."

"What do you mean, Frog?"

"That iz Canada. It just goes to show how observant _you _are."

Canada smiles and stands beside France, "Yes, _try_ to remember me from now on."

I smile at Canada, "Good job, Canada! You got them to stop!"

Canada blushes, "Thank you, Italy," he looks down at his feet and quietly adds, "I'm not used to having this much attention."

"Awwww… You're so cute!" I go over to hug him. Surprisingly, he accepts it. Every time I try to hug shy people, like Japan, they freeze up and push me away.

I dash over towards England, and take a pinch of the Chibi Powder from his hands before he can stop me. I put it to my nose and inhale.

"Italy! Vhat are you _doing_?" Holy Rome asks with growing anger

"I'm gonna be a chibi with you! Maybe it'll help you remember."

I am not prepared for the pain. My bones shrinking, my skin tightening, my limbs retracting… but I don't dare make a sound. I must stay strong.

And I succeed, for once. After the transformation is done, I rush over to Holy Rome and plant a long awaited kiss on his lips. I can't help but smile.

Canada quietly speaks after he is sure he won't interrupt anything. "Italy? Do you want to be my friend?"

I turn away from Holy Rome to look at the now gigantic figure. I see a pinch of the blood red powder in between his fingers. "Of course I do, Canada. Be a chibi, like us!" I jump onto his feet, hugging his shins.

"No! America! Don't be stupid!" England pleads.

Canada's voice is stronger now… more sure of himself, "England… why should I listen to you, when you can't even remember my name?"

France laughs, "I will _always _remember your name, mon cher."

Canada nods, "I believe you." He inhales the powder, and gasps faintly, before collapsing on the ground. After he is done, he stands between me and France and takes both of our hands.

Hungary squeals, "Awwwwww, you're the cutest chibi _ever_!"

Canada smiles, "You mean it?"

Hungary nods.

Canada lets go of France's and my hand to grab onto her forearm, since he can't hug her shins when she's sitting down, "You're my friend, too."

England's voice shatters the momentary happiness, "Well, this is very _cute _and all, but how are we supposed to _turn back_?"

"Who cares? I like you better this way, Angleterre. You're much more… harmless."

"Oh, _shut up_."

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><p><strong>Translation Notes:<strong>

**German:**

_**Mein **_**_gott_: My god**

**French:**

_**Mon ****dieu**_**:**** My god**

_**Mon ami**_**: My friend**

**_Angleterre_: England**

**_Allemange_: Germany**

**_Mon cher_: My dear**

**Yeah, I'm only using non-English words that I know _for sure_ have the right translation, instead of relying on Google Translate, in case it doesn't translate well. So consequently, France will be the one who speaks in his native language the most, because I speak French fairly well, whereas I only know a few phrases in other languages like German or Spanish.**


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